Phantasma Sonora
by NoxAria
Summary: Charlotte Harker 16, a witch with a powerful history, attends Hogwarts for the 1st time during the 6th year. She has difficulty with 2 people in particluar. Armed robbery, Accidental Magic, Duels, and new Wizard classes abound in this HBPcompliant story.
1. Pistols and Ceiling Fans

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything else you recognize for that matter.

Chapter One: Pistols and Ceiling Fans

Charlotte Harker glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands dictated that it was one-thirty, and almost time for closing. She sighed and went to stand under the fan, for it was abysmally hot inside of the café. Typically, on a night like this, Charlotte may even be feeling a bit chilly, but this summer was hotter than usual. After another moment under the ceiling fan, Charlotte went back behind the counter and started to wipe it down. Then she transferred her efforts to the sandwich toaster. The café was nearly empty, except for Charlotte's late-night regular, Max.

Max was a grungy sort of man with lanky ginger hair, and a slightly toothless smile. Charlotte had the feeling that he was part of the shady, London underworld, but she didn't mind at all. He was always nice to her and always left at closing. He also kept to himself while he sipped his coffee, which was the only thing he ever ordered. She would see him pouring alcohol of some sort into the cup sometimes, but other than that, his routine didn't vary. Charlotte picked up one of the four coffee pots and walked over to Max's table, which was in the left corner.

"Would you like a refill, Max?"

"Always do, m' dear girl," he said, sliding his cup over to her.

"I still can't understand how you drink coffee in this heat," Charlotte stated as she emptied the last of the highland grog roast into his cup. When she stepped back behind the counter, she saw that all of the other coffee pots were nearly empty.

_Only twenty-five minutes to go, _thought Charlotte hopefully, _perhaps if nobody else comes in, I won't have to make any more._

As soon as the thought entered her head, the door opened, admitting a man and woman who were clinging roughly to one another as they stumbled into the café. Charlotte could tell from their slurred speech that they were the garden-variety, over-thirty drunks, and it certainly did not thrill her.

As they fell into the nearest booth, Charlotte rolled her eyes and went to serve them, she could feel Max's old codger eyes following her.

"Hello, welcome to Pete's Café. How can I help you?"

"I'm 'ungry," the woman whined, pawing the man. "I wan' uuh uh san'ich."

"What kind?" Charlotte questioned.

"The one wiv' the chicken."

Charlotte considered asking for specifics, for they had four different chicken sandwiches, but thought better of it. She would just grab the nearest, blandest chicken sandwich, and be done with it.

"And you, sir? Would you like anything to eat?"

"What's your soup of the day?" he asked in a demanding manner.

"It's a Greek soup called _margheritsa._"

"What's it made of?"

"Lamb."

"Good enough. I'll have that." The man seemed to be taking great pains not to slur his words, and was barely succeeding. The door opened behind her, and a balding, red-haired man wearing a peculiar pin-striped suit entered the café. He sat down at the table beside Max's, placed his brief-case on the floor, and removed his jacket.

Charlotte smiled at him, then got the couple's food and set it down on the table. Immediately, the woman complained about the temperature of her sandwich.

"I wan'ed it hot!" she bleated.

This was certainly not what Charlotte wanted to be dealing with this late at night. She looked at the clock. _Twenty 'til two._ _I'm not going to be able to leave until three-thirty._

"The grill closes down at 1:30, madam, so any sandwiches must be served up cold."

The woman glared at her murderously for a moment, then pouted as she picked up the sandwich and took a bite. Charlotte was relieved.

"All right, so anything to drink tonight? Or have you, as one might imagine, quite satisfied your thirst?" Charlotte asked in a friendly voice. She heard Max snicker and the man immediately swelled.

"Are you making fun of us?"

"Of course not," said Charlotte, stifling a smirk, "I just wondered of you want any tea to go with your soup and sandwich?"

"No," the man snarled. "We're going to leave as soon as we've finished eating, and you won't be getting a tip."

"Well, a tip, as you know, is not a requirement, so it won't bother me," Charlotte retorted cheerfully, then turned around and went back toward Max's table.

"Hello," she said the red-haired business man. "What can I get for you?"

The man set down a newspaper that had seemingly come from nowhere and said kindly, "Just a strong black tea."

Charlotte smiled. "Long night ahead of you?"

"Yes, one might say that."

"All right, I'll be right back with that for you."

As Charlotte took a teabag from one of the boxes behind the shelf and put it in a mug, she saw the suit talking with Max, looking as though he was trying to hide it. She listened hard, trying to discern some words over the buzz of the ceiling fan.

"… late, Mundungus, got held up at the Ministry. There was this horrible instance involving a tea cozy," said the red-haired man.

_Why is he calling Max "Mundungus?" _Charlotte speculated. _And why would a government official be talking with Max? It's probably something to do with drugs…_

Charlotte filled the mug with hot water and took it over to the table.

"She mended a broken cup?" the red-haired man asked. "Anything else?"

"Well she --- "

"Here's your tea, sir, and Max, would you like anything else?" Charlotte asked politely.

"You know I always 'ave just the coffee, m' dear."

"All right then, I'll be back with the bills. It's near closing time."

Charlotte wondered whom they were talking about, and got the sneaking suspicion that they were talking about her. Just last week, she'd accidentally swiped a few cups off the counter behind her. She could have sworn she'd heard them shatter, and was very worried about it, too, certain they would come out of her pay, or she may be sacked, and her sister would be very disappointed with her. But when she'd turned, they were all just rolling around on the floor. When she'd picked them up and placed them in the sink for washing, she saw Max looking at her with an almost elated expression. He'd left early that night, leaving a large amount of money on the table, apparently unthinkingly, and said, "Thank you, m' dear. You've given me the idea for one of the best bargains I've yet to make," before skipping through the door.

"_She mended a cup." I certainly didn't _mend _them. I was just insanely lucky they didn't break, and I must have been hearing things when they shattered, probably because I was so worried they would…_

Charlotte busied herself with writing up the bills, ignoring the shrieking laughter the inebriated woman emitted. As soon as she'd deposited the slips of paper on the occupied table, Charlotte changed the sign in the door from "open" to "closed." She would not lock the door, however, until all the customers were gone. She went back to cleaning the grill, thanking heaven that her manager was the only person allowed to handle the funds, and she would therefore be able to leave sooner.

As she scrubbed at a burnt piece of cheese that was stuck to the metal surface, Charlotte heard the door open again. She looked up and saw that the person who had opened the door was a tall, emaciated man. He was quivering and sweating, and the whites of his eyes were red.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but we're closed," Charlotte told him. He kept walking forward. Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him, realizing that his appearance connoted methamphetamine use, and stepped away from the grill, towards the phone. She glanced at Max and the suit. They both stared, but the drunken couple was still talking, unfettered. The man shook even more horribly and continued forward.

"We're closed," Charlotte repeated.

"G-give me all th-the money!" the man shouted.

Charlotte's eyes grew wide and she grabbed the phone from the receiver. It was an old phone, and she had only been able to dial one number on the circular dialer before the man acted. He pulled out a pistol.

"Hang it up!" he bellowed, aiming the gun at Charlotte. The drunken woman screamed. Charlotte continued to clutch the phone. The man cocked lowered the gun cocked it before pointing it at her again. "D-do it!"

Charlotte slowly lowered the phone and placed it back on the receiver, her eyes flicking to where Max sat, looking as though he were trying to find a safe way out, and where the red-haired suit was, on the edge of his seat, clutching something at his side. She did not have time to find out what it was before she turned her eyes back to the robber.

"Give me all the money!"

Breathing heavily, and shaking a bit, Charlotte said, "This will take a moment."

She pressed random buttons, hoping to stall the robber just a little bit, for what purpose she did not know. Suddenly, someone lunged at the robber. Charlotte realized with great shock that it was the drunken man, apparently bent on heroics. It did not take much for the robber to handle him. The gun fell to the ground with a great _thunk_ the robber seeming to have forgotten it. The robber did not need it, however and knocked the man out with ease. His girlfriend began to scream and sob, thinking irrationally that her intoxicated boyfriend was dead, and the red-haired man had stood up, his hand still at his side. The whole thing was horrific, but Charlotte could not understand how the robber, who was practically decaying, could have possibly been so strong. Before her mind could come up with an answer to this question, he had scrambled for the gun and was pointing it at her again.

There was nothing for it. Charlotte opened the register and pulled out all the money inside, putting it in a brown bag. She set it on the counter.

"H-hand it to me," the robber commanded.

Trembling all the way, Charlotte picked the money back up and leaned over the counter as far as she could. She jumped when the man snatched it and hurried back over the counter.

"Now open the safe," he said.

Charlotte froze. She did not have access to the safe, didn't know the combination.

"I…"

"I didn't ask you to talk. Open the fucking safe!"

"I can't open it!" Charlotte cried. "I don't have the combination."

"Then you better find a way to get it, or I'll fucking shoot you in the bloody brain!" the robber bellowed. The drunk woman continued to sob. "And you shut the hell up, you hag!" She was quiet immediately, having reduced her sobs to hiccups. The other two men in the café still had not said a word.

The intruder raised the gun higher. Charlotte was in a frenzy. She knew she would have to open the safe somehow, or she would die. She also knew that she couldn't open the safe without the manager there, and that she was going to be shot.

_Drop the gun, _she willed, _please just drop it, please, God, please I'm only sixteen…_

Suddenly the smell of burning meat reached her nose. The gun suddenly turned a hot shade of orange. The robber cried out and dropped it, and this time when the gun hit the floor, it fired a shot. Charlotte shouted at the noise and dropped behind the counter. The glass in the door broke, and a coffee pot behind her shattered. The bullet, however, seemed to have gone through the ceiling. Charlotte was thankful that there were only warehouses above her. She didn't stop to think about the broken glass objects, just remained behind the counter. The girlfriend had begun to cry again.

"Goddammit!" the robber bellowed. Charlotte stayed behind the counter. "You fucking whore! What the fuck did you do? My hand… it's burnt!"

Charlotte peered around the counter, and saw, to her astonishment, that the man's right hand was red, blistered, and bleeding. She also, upon examining the floor, saw that the gun was only a few feet away from her. She crawled forward as quickly as she could, tried to get at it, but the robber got to her first. He grabbed her long ponytail with his good hand and jerked her upward. Charlotte's face screwed up in pain as she got to her feet. The man let go of her at last, but only so he could land a punch on her cheek. Charlotte gasped. The drunken woman screamed. Charlotte heard the suited man's voice shout something just as she stumbled over the unconscious body on the floor, pulling the robber with her. The woman was suddenly silent.

The robber ignored his injury as he balled his right hand into a fist and landed another punch on her face. Charlotte screamed as the blow locked with her left eye. The walls around her began to shake. The robber grabbed her shoulder.

"Get off of me!" she shouted, pushing him. The suited man yelled something else at that moment, and something red streaked past the robber's nose.

"Get out!" Charlotte screamed, and the man groaned and clapped his hands over his ears.

"GET OUT!!!"

There was a resounding crack. The ceiling fan came loose and fell, landing on top of the robber as he swooned. The room continued to shake, but momentarily calmed down. Charlotte looked up at the ceiling, then at the robber sprawled with the fan lying by his head. There was blood trickling from his ears. The drunk was a few feet away from him, sporting a large black bruise on his temple, his girlfriend slumped in her booth. Then Charlotte turned to the suited man, who stood there holding a long, wooden stick. Max, she saw, was gone.

"Oh God."

Charlotte sunk to the floor, shaking. Her mind was completely blank. Her entire body hurt, but especially her head, and she could barely see out of her left eye. The suited man knelt before her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her. His words brought her back to her senses a bit. She inhaled and looked up at his kind face, then smiled slightly.

"Like I should have called in sick tonight, wishing I was still on the psychotropics."

The man looked suddenly interested. "Psycho-tro-picks? What are those?"

"You know, medication to make crazy people sane. My parents put me on them when I was five, but I can't remember why…"

"Are they pills?"

"Yes," Charlotte said. She was looking at the man curiously now.

_Maybe he should be on them._

"Who are you?" she asked him.

"My name is Arthur Weasley."

"Nice name," Charlotte said hazily. "I'm Charlotte Harker."

"Pleasure to meet you. Tell me, when did you stop taking the pills?"

"About three months ago. Are you a doctor or something?"

"No, I'm a wizard."

Charlotte didn't really hear him, she was looking at the robber. "Oh. Is he dead?"

Mr. Weasley stood and went over to the robber. "Fortunately, no he's not. And neither are any of the other ones. That will make things much easier when your please-men get here."

"What?" Charlotte asked, and then a look of comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, the police! I have to call them, don't I?"

She stood and went over to the phone.

"Wait for that," said Mr. Weasley kindly. "I'm certain a squad will be arriving anytime now."

"What?" Charlotte said.

Suddenly, three people entered the café, all wearing funny-looking cloaks.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked them. One of them, a rather portly, graying man in his fifties, looked at her briefly, then looked at his surroundings and turned to Mr. Weasley.

"What the devil happened here, Arthur? It looks like someone fired _reductos_ every which way," he stated.

_Reductos?_ Charlotte thought.

"An attempted robbery and a little accidental magic, Perkins," said Mr. Weasley.

_Magic?_

Charlotte replaced the phone on the receiver. The second cloaked person, a woman in her late twenties, bent over the unconscious robber.

"This one seems to have had his ear drums popped," she announced as the third person, a young man with glasses, wrote things down with a feathered pen.

"Thank you, Rowan. Did you get that down, Justin? Accidental magic, Arthur? From whom, you?" questioned Perkins.

"Miss Charlotte Harker here," Mr. Weasley stated. Charlotte stared at him, her mouth agape.

Perkins only glanced at Charlotte before turning to the intoxicated girlfriend. "What about _her?_ She's clearly been stunned."

"Yes, well, that bit was my fault. The stunning charm was meant for the robber, but he fell out of its way. The same thing happened with that burn on the seat."

Charlotte remembered the red thing streaking past earlier, and glanced at the stick Mr. Weasley still held in his hand. The other two were holding them, too, and each seemed to be of slightly different design.

_What are they?_ Charlotte asked herself.

"Merlin, Arthur! A bit careless, wouldn't you say?" Perkins derided.

"Perhaps, but I believe it would have been more careless not to help a defenseless witch," Arthur Weasley protested.

The man finally paid Charlotte some attention.

"Where was your wand through all of this?"

"My --- my _wand?_ Is that what those things are?" she asked, pointing to the sticks everyone was holding.

Perkins gave Arthur a withering look. "Defenseless _witch, _Arthur? Defenseless muggle, more like. I've never known you to be this foolish."

"She's a witch, I assure you," said Mr. Weasley.

"We're going to have to modify her memory," said the woman.

"Wait just a moment!" Charlotte ordered. The three wizards looked up at her. "Magic and wands and witches? What kind of people are you? Are you all mad? What the bloody hell is a muggle?"

"A muggle is someone like you, someone who can't do magic," said Perkins, glaring at Arthur.

"Well that goes without saying! Nobody can do magic."

Perkins rolled his eyes.

"Miss Harker," said Mr. Weasley, "when that man had his weapon pointed at you, what happened?"

"It malfunctioned. It got really hot and burned him, so he dropped it," Charlotte answered immediately.

"And when it fired and you screamed, what happened?"

"The glass in the door broke, and one of the coffee pots." Charlotte was annoyed.

"But what was damaged by the gun?" he pressed further.

"The… the ceiling," Charlotte answered, beginning to understand. "I knocked those teacups off the counter last week, I heard them break… but they were fine."

Charlotte sank down behind the counter again and put her hands in the hair at her temples. She heard Justin's pen scratching furiously on his notebook.

_I'm going mad, _was her first thought, and then, _but I know it happened, and it's the only logical explanation for all of this…oh what are you thinking, Charlotte? Logical? If it's magic it's not logical, it's supernatural. Things that are beyond what is natural don't exactly fall into Newton's Three Laws… Oh lord, I'm glad it's the holidays and I don't have school. But magic isn't real! Then again, I popped the man's eardrums. I broke the glass, I fixed those cups --- they were talking about me. I wonder if there's a university for all this magic stuff. It would make sense, wouldn't it? And if they're right and I really am a witch, then I'm sure to be able to go. It wouldn't alter my plans too much…_

"Well, Perkins?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Fine, you are possibly correct, but why isn't she at Hogwarts? She's clearly of the age to be there."

"Your guess is as good as mine, Perkins. I would suggest you contact Albus Dumbledore if you really want to know. Now I suggest we clear this up so we can call the muggle law-enforcement and get this man behind bars," Mr. Weasley put forth.

"Yes, you're quite right, I think. Rowan, take care of the girl while Arthur tells me what happened."

"Yes sir," she said, and walked behind the counter, broken glass crunching under her shoes. Charlotte looked up at her.

"My head hurts, and I'm really tired," she said with a warning tone in her voice.

"I… I know, but I need to talk to you a bit."

"About what? Quite frankly, Miss Whoever, I think you should be explaining why there are a bunch of wizards in the café on my shift, and why the bloody hell nobody told me I am one!"

"First of all, my name is Rowan Hembly. Secondly, it has not been proven that you are a witch, and for that reason, there is no way I can be so forthcoming with any of that information," said the young woman, bristling.

"Then you can get out of my café. I'll call the police right now and tell them to take you to the mad house!"

"What purpose would that serve?" said Rowan sternly.

"Plenty," said Charlotte, looking pointedly at the phone.

Rowan stared at her, as if trying to assess the level of desperation the girl possessed. Then she rolled her eyes.

"I suppose he's going to Obliviate you anyway. I was never this batty over my Hogwarts letter…"

"Your what?"

"My Hogwarts letter," Rowan answered with trepidation.

"What's that?"

"I suppose you won't let up until I tell you. It's a letter from a school for magic, and you start there when you're eleven. Most people find out they're wizards or witches then. Some people figure it out for themselves when strange things start happening around them. I was one of those."

"I used to pretend I had magic powers when I was really young, according to my sister. My parents put a stop to that almost right away," said Charlotte. The witch looked a bit confused.

"How did they do that?" she asked, suddenly looking interested.

"I don't know, told me I couldn't pretend anymore, I suppose. I don't really remember. It's just what my sister said. Stupid, though. Children should be allowed to play pretend…"

Charlotte looked at the woman, who was now smiling a bit sadly.

"You probably weren't pretending."

"Maybe… but why are you here now?" Charlotte demanded.

"There was quite a bit of magic going on in here and since muggles aren't supposed to know we exist, we have to come clean up. Perkins, Justin, and I are part of the Department for Accidental Magic and Catastrophes. Justin comes up with a non-magic explanation, I erase the traces of magic, and Perkins alters muggles' memories when things go wrong."

Charlotte remembered Mr. Weasley saying to Max that he got held up at "the Ministry."

"So there's an entire separate government for you? How many of you are there?"

"Thousands all over the world."

"And you've been hiding how?"

"Well, we _can_ do magic."

"Oh, yes." Charlotte felt a sudden pain in her face. A thought occurred to her. "Hey, if you can do magic, then you can make these bruises go away, right?"

The witch looked slightly remorseful as she said, "Well, no. You still have to talk with the police, and if that burglar remembers hitting you, it would look a bit odd for you not to be sporting bruises."

"You can modify his memory, though, right?"

"We try to do as little alteration as possible," Rowan told Charlotte.

"Oh."

"Hey, Rowan."

Charlotte and Rowan looked up. Perkins was leaning over the counter. The woman and the girl stood up.

"Yes?" said Rowan.

"What I need you to do is repair any broken glass, fix the burn in the seat, mend up that man's burnt hand, and fix his eardrums, removing all blood from the ear canal. Oh, and see to it that the woman gets woken up and then knocked out again. Hit her in the back of the head, and make sure she gets a large bruise. I'll modify their memories," he requested brusquely.

"Aren't you going to modify hers?" Rowan questioned. Perkins looked a bit put upon, and rubbed his left temple.

"No. I'm taking a gamble."

Rowan blinked a bit nervously and went on. "What about the security cameras?" she asked him. He looked a bit perplexed.

"They're broken," Charlotte told the two before they had to worry about it.

"Oh. Good," said Perkins.

Rowan sighed and took out her wand. She pointed it at the broken glass on the ground and said, "_Reparo._"

The glass came together and formed a coffee pot. Charlotte picked it up and set it back in the coffee-maker, amazed. Rowan did the same with the glass in the window.

"I want to learn how to do that," Charlotte said.

"You very well may," said Mr. Weasley, coming to stand in front of her. "Now listen, the story you are to tell the --- what is it, poleez? --- what you're going to tell them is --- "

The telephone suddenly rang. Charlotte jumped, took a big breath and grabbed it.

"Pete's Café,"

"Charlotte? Charlotte, is that you?" said the voice on the other end. It was Charlotte's sister.

"Yeah, it's me. Hi, Magda."

"Why aren't you home yet? The café closed at two tonight, didn't it?"

Charlotte heard a thump and a feeble cry as the witch knocked the drunk woman out for the second time that night.

"What time is it now?"

"Almost four."

"Oh. Well, there was this thing that happened, sort of like an armed robbery --- "

"WHAT?"

"There was a man with a gun and he tried to take the money --- "

"I know what an armed robbery is, what I mean to ask is if you're all right!"

"Yeah, he's knocked out."

"Did you call the police?"

"Uh…" Charlotte looked at Mr. Weasley. "No, but --- "

"I want to talk to the adult working there."

"I'm the only one working tonight."

"WHAT? Your manager can't do that, it's illegal," Charlotte's sister exclaimed.

"Well, he did."

"I'm calling a cab, and you need to call the police."

"I --- I will."

"And if they get there before I do, stay put."

"Magda --- "

But she had already hung up, it seemed. Charlotte replaced the phone on the receiver, and looked at Mr. Weasley.

_I'm going to be fine. I will conduct myself in a mature and stable manner, and for now, I'll just tell myself that I'm a witch and leave doubts for when I've got time for them, _Charlotte thought. She took a deep breath.

"That was my sister," she stated, "she's coming here, and I'm supposed to call the police."

"All right, let's get the story straight before they arrive. Everything that happened is the same up to a point. When the intruder told that woman to be quiet, he hit her in the back of the head with the gun and knocked her out. On his way back to you, he tripped over her boyfriend and dropped the gun, which fired into the ceiling loosened the propeller thing. You tried to get the gun, and there was a squabble, during which he hit you twice, just like what really happened. You shoved him to get him away from you, and the fan fell down, of 'natural causes' and landed on his head, rendering him unconscious. I'm only a witness to the affair. Can you remember all that?"

"Yes, and I'm a good liar, too, so it should work out fine."

"You'll have to tell your sister this too."

"But --- "

"You may be able to tell her about the rest of it later."

Charlotte thought about it. She really wanted to tell her sister now, and maybe get some help from her with making sense of it all.

_But what if she thinks I'm mad?_

Charlotte sighed. "All right."

"Go call the please-men. Or whatever they're called."

"They're going to wonder why we didn't call them immediately after he got knocked out," she said.

"You were incredibly upset and I had to calm you down first."

Charlotte smiled and picked up the phone. "Fantastic. Oh, and it's _po-lice _men, and that propeller thing on the ceiling is called a ceiling fan."

Charlotte dialed, assumed the shaky, upset voice she had long since lost, and said, "I need to report an attempted burglary." She continued to talk to the emergency specialist as Arthur Weasley approached Rowan the memory modifier.

"I told her about Hogwarts," she admitted sheepishly, "and I don't think Perkins is going to be very happy about it. I thought we would be Obliviating her."

"Actually, that's good that she knows about it. I'm almost certain she'll be admitted after tonight's events."

"But how? She's no eleven year-old," the wizard called Justin asked.

"Dumbledore is the headmaster. I'm sure he has something in a drawer somewhere that will work for her."

"Oh, yeah."

"Listen, try to get Perkins not to tell the ministry about her just yet. This is a rather unique case, and it would be better if --- "

"Professor Dumbledore looked into it first. Now that you mention it, I completely agree. I'll try, but Perkins tends to do whatever he wants, you know?" said Rowan.

"Plus, he's one of the people most against Dumbledore's thoughts on You-Know-Who's return."

Mr. Weasley nodded and said, "Thank you, though."

Charlotte finished her phone call just as Perkins finished modifying memories, and both came to stand with Mr. Weasley and Rowan.

"Well, that's finished," said Perkins.

"Time to go then?" asked Rowan.

"Yes."

"Goodbye, then, and good luck to you," said Rowan to Charlotte.

With a loud pop, the witch and wizards disappeared.

"Too weird," Charlotte remarked. "I suppose they went back to the Ministry or whatever it is. I listen to customers' conversations sometimes. Speaking of which, where did Max go off to?"

"I believe he disapparated at the slightest sign of trouble," said Mr. Weasley bitterly. "His real name is Mundungus Fletcher, and he's bit of a scalawag."

_What does it mean "he disapparated?" It sounds sort of like disappear. _

"Is that what the three magic-government officials did?"

Mr. Weasley looked a bit shocked, and then impressed. "Yes, that's what they did."

"This is fascinating. Oh, my head hurts. I need some coffee," said Charlotte, putting one of the pots under the tap. "Would you like some?"

"Uh… yes, actually. You're handling all of this remarkably well."

_Not really. I'm half mad with all this information and I still don't really know if I'm not imagining it… Keep your head on, Charlotte. Answer his questions, don't let him know you're upset… my head aches!_

Charlotte smiled wryly. "Believe me, my head isn't, and I don't even want to look in a mirror. It's probably adrenaline. It's fascinating how the body operates sometimes, isn't it?"

"Yes. Tell me, how does that contraption work?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"The coffeemaker? Well you pour the water into the receptacle at the back, and there's a thing in it that heats up the water, and then there's a tube that sucks it up and sprays it through the coffee grounds. Makes coffee, and it's going to make my head feel better. I wonder if I have some pain-killers."

Mr. Weasley stared at the coffeemaker with acute fascination at Charlotte went to the back room and got her purse.

"Thank the lord," she said, then poured a cup of coffee and chased three pills with it. Just as she was setting the bottle back in her purse, a cab pulled up to the café.

Mr. Weasley turned around and looked at the short-haired, sweat-pant clad, brunette woman paying the driver.

"That's my sister. She's a public defender --- a lawyer --- so don't be surprised if she interrogates you upon entering."

"Is she your guardian?"

"Yes, she's twelve years older than I am."

"Where are your parents?" Arthur Weasley questioned.

Charlotte never answered, for just then, Magda entered the shop, looking only at Charlotte.


	2. Owl Feathers and Fiddles

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

Chapter Two: Owl Feathers and Fiddles

Five days later, Charlotte lay in bed. She had just woken up, and it was three o'clock in the afternoon. She had been sleeping a lot this week. Her curtains stirred lightly in the sunny breeze. Charlotte sighed. It was still overwhelmingly hot. She slipped from under the light sheet and stood, deciding that a cool shower was in order. Before she entered the bathroom, however, she went into the kitchen and got out the plastic wrap. She used it to cover the stitches sitting high on her right cheekbone. She would always have a small mark there, just below the corner of her eye, her first battle scar.

After her shower, Charlotte got a piece of toast from the kitchen for breakfast, and sat down in the adjoining parlor, crushing the newspaper, which sat, previously unnoticed, in the chair beneath her. She stood up, looked at the article on the front page of the local section from four days ago, and nearly sat back down in demonstration of her opinion of it. There was an article there entitled, _"Café Waitress Aids in Capture of Serial Thief." _It had turned out that the man who had attempted to rob Pete's Café matched the description tacked to the robber of several different late-night and twenty-four-hour establishments all over that sector of the city.

_Thrilling,_ thought Charlotte as she read the first line for the second time.

_"Miss Charlotte Harker (16) of London was working the late shift at Pete's Café on 10 July, 1995 when the intruder arrived, brandishing a gun…"_

The article had gone on to tell a brief, non-magic version of the incident, including a quote by one of the officers sent to the site, and to express deep criticism for the manager of the currently shut-down café for leaving a minor alone and in charge during such a dangerous time of business.

_"Miss Harker currently lives under the guardianship of her 28 year-old sister, Magdalene Harker, Attorney of Law. "She's a very strong girl," Magdalene Harker assures, and she expects her little sister to recover fully from the traumatic experience suffered._

Charlotte crumpled the newspaper and stuffed it in the waste bin by the sofa. The article was also accompanied by a report on the television, featuring footage of Alfred Hill, the burglar, being stuffed into the paramedic van on a stretcher, and of Charlotte, bruised and mussed, pushing her way toward the police car with Magda and Mr. Weasley. The reporter gave his name as "Mr. Arthur Gregson," and Charlotte assumed that that was the name he had given to the police. It was followed by an update on the water shortage and the weather forecast.

_Fantastic, _she thought sarcastically when she saw it, _now my face and name are plastered on national television. Now all my old "friends" will be able to find me, assuming they actually watch the news. I wonder if mum will call._

But now, five days later, Charlotte had not received a call from her parents, nor had she received any written information from that school Mr. Weasley had said would be contacting her. It had been a very long battle in her brain whether she had imagined it all, and she had come to the conclusion that she had been in full control of her mental facilities that night. Nevertheless, she still had doubts.

_No, I didn't imagine it, _she insisted, and stood back up. Leaving her toast on the chair's armrest, Charlotte slipped her feet into some sandals and went back down to the lobby of the building. The mail would have arrived by now. When she reached the box she and her sister shared, Charlotte hastily did the combination, messed up, and had another go. After four tries, the lock finally yielded. Charlotte pulled out every single letter and read the names on them, and every single one was for Magda.

Suppressing a groan, Charlotte slammed the mailbox shut and traipsed back up to the fifth floor. When she got back to the flat, she finished her toast, and debated whether or not she wanted to practice the violin, her new favorite musical instrument, or peruse the works of Victor Hugo. She chose the book, and sat down on the sofa. She was just reading about Fantine's tragic history when there came from behind her, a loud thump, and scratching noise much like the sound of a cat's claws on a slippery wood floor. Charlotte dropped the book and whirled around. There on Charlotte's kitchen table, framed by the afternoon sunlight, was a gigantic barn owl.

"Dear God," Charlotte said, standing. "Get out of here, go on, scoot!"

The owl didn't move, just tottered forward to the edge of the table and stuck out its leg. There was something tied to it. Charlotte stopped shouting at it.

"Oh, you poor thing," she said, coming forward. She suspected animal cruelty, and hurried to untie the object, which turned out to be a decorative envelope sealed with wax. Charlotte found this incredibly odd, because nobody used things like that anymore. As soon as the envelope was loosed from the owl's leg, it took off, leaving a few feathers in Charlotte's black hair. She pulled them out with her right hand and turned the envelope over with her left. There, written on the smooth, parchment-like surface was her name.

_Charlotte Harker_

_The Southwestern Corner Flat_

_Fifth Floor_

_655 Salter Street_

_London, England_

Without preamble, Charlotte flipped the letter back over and peeled the wax seal away. This was the letter she had hoped for, strangely sent with a bird, and she wanted to read it as soon as possible. There was a piece of folded parchment inside. Charlotte unfolded it and read it eagerly.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

Headmaster: albus dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class)_

Dear Miss Harker,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Traditionally, a list of books and equipment is enclosed; however, we are unable to provide you with such for reasons which will be described further.

Due to your rather unusual case, it has been decided that an intensive study program, extending over the course of one year, shall be made available to you in order to bring you to the same level as other pupils your age. It shall begin in two weeks time. If you should choose to decline this offer, and instead attend classes in the typical manner, you would be joining a group of eleven year-olds. It is highly recommended that you choose the alternative. A representative from the school shall be arriving tomorrow evening at seven-thirty to discuss your options.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Charlotte could hardly believe her eyes. She hadn't imagined it after all, and now, she would be allowed to go! All she had left to do was show the letter to her sister as soon as she got home, and then the both of them would make the necessary preparations to meet with a representative. Charlotte could only imagine that he or she would be coming here, as the letter had. She could hardly wait for tomorrow. Charlotte looked at the clock on the oven. Magda would be home in just about half an hour. Charlotte went back over to the couch and reread the letter over and over, only abandoning it so she could use the toilet.

A call came from the front room just as Charlotte was washing her hands.

"I'm in here, Magda. Be right out," Charlotte said loudly, and hurried to dry her hands.

When Charlotte walked down the short hallway and entered the kitchen, Magda was reading the mail on the kitchen table and putting away some fruit she'd gotten at the market.

"Hi," said Charlotte as she leaned against the wall.

"Hi Charlotte. Have you iced your face today? Listen, I got some witch hazel to put in the freezer for it, and some lilac oil for afterward. It should take the bruises away faster. Anyway, how are you feeling?" Magda said rather breathlessly.

"Fine," said Charlotte, realizing that this was not quite the moment to tell Magda about the letter from Hogwarts. She chose to ask about less important things instead. "Have you heard from Mum?"

"Yes, she called me at work today. She and Dad are going to be sending the money for your hospital visit as well child support this month."

"She's not going to call me, then?"

"I didn't say that," Magda said almost automatically, "and anyhow, why would you want to keep up contact with her?"

"I don't _really_ want to. It would just be nice to receive a few phone calls, you know for the little things, like Christmas and my birthday… oh and taking down a violent burglar while there was still a gun in reach."

Magda was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Don't sound so bitter."

"All right, I won't," Charlotte grumbled standing up straight. "Hey, did you read the paper from four days ago? There was an article about me, and it has a direct quote from you at the end of it."

"What? Where is it?"

Charlotte fished it out of the trash bin. Magda took it from her and read the entire article.

"Oh," she said indignantly, "one of them got through to me at work and asked me if you would recover. I told them that right before hanging up the phone. My God, I hate reporters."

"Yeah me too," said Charlotte. "There was something on the television as well. It makes me a bit worried."

"Worried? You shouldn't. Our phone number is unlisted everywhere. That's something I made sure of when I became an attorney."

Charlotte went over to one of the cupboards and opened it. Magda shifted her attentions to the mail on the table.

"What do you want to eat for dinner tonight?" she asked, pulling out some pasta. "I can make some fake Italian."

"What? Oh sure, pasta's fine," Magda said distractedly, reading through one of the bills. "Thank God Mum's paying for the hospital. That CT scan cost loads."

"Magda," Charlotte said as she filled a pot with water, "you know what you said about me going back to work?"

Magda sighed and looked away from the bill, saying, "Charlotte, I don't care about money. I just don't want you working for a while, all right? You need things to be calm after all this nonsense."

"Well, what about --- "

"Charlotte, what's this?" Magda suddenly asked, raising a heavy parchment envelope.

"It's a… well it had a letter from a school inside it. Here --- " Charlotte grabbed the letter from the couch " --- here it is."

"I didn't know you applied to any schools," said Magda, looking thrilled as she took the piece of parchment from her sister. When she read the piece on top, the smile slid from her face. "Is this a joke, Charlotte?" she murmured.

"No, it's not a joke, I swear! It's what I wanted to talk --- "

"What's the return address on this? Oh. There is no return address, and how _ever_ did the postman manage to put this in the correct box?" Magda speculated.

"It didn't come through the box. Someone attached it to the leg of an owl. I know it sounds insane, but it's true. I met four of them the night of the robbery."

At first Magda's face held an expression of anger, and then it melted, passing through confusion, and ending on concern.

"Charlotte," she began cautiously, "when you moved in with me and said that you wanted to stop taking your medication, I agreed because I believed the pills were causing the instability of your moods. Things were going so well, but now here you are, doing the same thing that Mum and Dad put you on the meds for, and I am seriously regretting my decision. You can't --- "

"What? Why was I on medication again?" Charlotte interrupted.

"I already said it."

"Well, I want the full story!" Charlotte yelled. Magda stared at her for a moment.

"When you were three years old," she said at last, "you told Mum and Dad that you could do magic. When you were five years old, you were still saying it. You said you could make things disappear, that when you sang you could make the wind blow, and --- I think this is what scared them the most --- you also told them that if you _really _tried, you could make the cat dance. I was seventeen, I remember. I told Mum that you were only pretending, but then Mum and Dad took you to a psychiatrist anyway. He diagnosed you with an acute personality disorder and loaded you up on drugs. There, that's the full story."

Charlotte was furious. "You probably weren't pretending," Rowan had said, and Charlotte had sort of ignored that statement. Now, standing in her sister's flat, having heard the entire story, Rowan's words kept repeating themselves. She _had _been able to do magic when she was a little girl. She thought it better not to argue that point with Magda now.

"Look, Magda, I may have been pretending when I was a little girl --- I don't remember --- but I'm not pretending now! It's real, Magda. I've met four of them. They fixed some of the damage I caused at the café that night. Mr. Weasley is a wizard, and they've accepted me into their school. I'm sort of powerful, from what I understand."

"Charlotte! Stop it! If this is your way of dealing with that incident in the café or with your failure as a student, then I'd rather you didn't include me in it."

Charlotte was silent. She could not believe her older sister had said that to her.

"You sound just like Mum," she said tonelessly.

"Perhaps I have to," said Magda coldly.

"Look, I _know_ I made mistakes. I _know _I got expelled, but that doesn't make me a failure. I _am_ intelligent, I do get good marks."

"You got expelled _three times_, Charlotte. How many people get expelled _three times_ without being deemed a failure?"

Charlotte was now breathing quite heavily.

_I'm not a failure, I'm not. I play musical instruments, I sing, I read, and I'm a witch. Sure, I haven't been in school since March, but…it doesn't matter anymore. I'm going to Hogwarts. I am!_

All the letters flew off the table as if a strong gust of wind had blown through the curtains, and the only one remaining was the heavy parchment from Hogwarts. Charlotte looked up at Magda, and saw that her eyebrows were drawn together, her mouth slightly open, as if contemplating something.

"Did you read the entire letter?" Charlotte asked quietly.

"Yes," Magda answered stiffly.

"Then you know that they're coming tomorrow to see me. You'll be home when they arrive, and I'm cooking dinner. You'll see."

"No one's coming, Charlotte."

Charlotte sighed exasperatedly.

"I'm going for a walk."

She slammed the door on her way out. She could barely contemplate all of this. She was able to do magic when she was little, and then her parents made her get psychiatric help for it.

_Why did I stop, then? The medication was certainly the cause for it, but _how_ could it possibly have cut off my magic?_ Charlotte agonized. She had to admit that everything that happened in her life before the age of ten was a bit hazy now. Charlotte cursed her parents avidly as she walked down the street.

By the time she reached the park, sweat was sliding off every exposed surface of her skin. _I don't know if I can take much more of this heat, _Charlotte thought as she lowered herself to one of the black rubber-and-chain swings. As she pumped her legs up and down, Charlotte found herself torn between anger at her sister and parents, excitement over the letter, and the fear that no one was actually going to come to the flat tomorrow. She ignored the children playing, ignored squeak of the swing set, and hummed under her breath for hours while she thought of the chemical properties of psychotropic drugs. At nine or so, Charlotte left the park, having come to no real conclusion. The wind blew around her as she walked down the darkened street, and Charlotte hummed a song to create a harmony with its tune.

"Magda, how hot should the oven be if I'm heating up a loaf of bread?" Charlotte asked as she slid a cookie sheet into the oven.

Magda was sitting on the couch in jeans, socks, and a t-shirt, her pen moving furiously as she took notes on a new case. She groaned, dropped her pen, and turned.

"Charlotte, I am _working!_" she hissed. "I can't pay attention to your stupid, childish games."

_Shut up, _thought Charlotte, but she smiled sweetly and waved the aluminum-covered bread from side to side teasingly.

"Come on. If nobody shows up, we can still eat it."

Magda sighed and rubbed her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. "Two-hundred degrees, and only for half an hour." she answered, and then turned back to her work. Charlotte smiled and dropped the loaf onto the cookie sheet and shut the oven. She looked up at the clock. Twenty minutes to go, it told her.

Charlotte looked around her. The table was set for three places, the counter tops were clean, the tea was made, and the supper was cooked, all except for the bread. All she had left to do was to wait. She went to sit beside Magda, but the entire couch was covered in papers and files, as was the floor. Charlotte sighed and turned around, going into her room. She checked her appearance in the mirror. She was wearing a knee-length blue skirt and a white blouse that contrasted nicely with her black hair, and yet Charlotte believed there was still something sloppy in her appearance. She decided it was her hair, which still hung loosely to the small of her back. She took her brush up and got rid of the remaining tangles before braiding her hair. After this was finished, she looked at her bedside clock. She still had fifteen minutes until the Hogwarts representative arrived. Casting about her bedroom for something to do, she spied her violin, leaning against the wall beside her cello.

_That will do, _Charlotte thought as she opened the case, pulled the instrument out, and plucked the strings to make sure it was in tune. Then she picked up the bow and ran some rosin across the white horse hair. Charlotte adjusted the pad on the underside of the violin and rested the instrument upon her collarbone. Then, making a few warm-up strokes, Charlotte launched into the first thing she could think to play, Beethoven's Allegro Molto from String Quartet No.9. No sooner had she begun the quick strokes upon the steel strings than came a shout from the living room.

"CHARLOTTE! CUT IT OUT!"

Charlotte continued to play. Magda yelled some more.

"If I have to come back there, you'll be in serious trouble!"

Charlotte's bow stopped moving with a screech. She lowered her violin, grabbed it and the bow in both hands, and stormed from her room.

"Why? It's not ugly is it? Isn't classical music supposed to be intellectually stimulating?" Charlotte demanded.

"It's cacophony," Magda bit.

"No it's not! I know I've only been playing for two years, but I'm good at it! Why shouldn't I be allowed to practice?" Charlotte retorted.

"Because I can't do my work with the bloody violin wailing from the back room, that's why!"

"Well, you should be taking a break tonight anyway. I've got an interview with someone from Hogwarts."

"I'm not even going to touch on _that._ Put the violin away, or I'll lock it in my wardrobe, is that clear?"

Charlotte glowered at her sister, and put the padded end of the violin back on her collarbone, picking up the Allegro Molto right where she had left off. She stared defiantly at Magda as her fingers danced rapidly along the neck of the instrument. Magda shook her head and set her papers on the couch beside her, standing.

"Charlotte, give me your --- "

_Thump thump thump._

Both Charlotte and her sister gasped and turned to the door. Charlotte's violin whined as the bow came to a halt once more. The knocking began again. Magda glared at Charlotte and said, "Well, you'd better answer it," before returning to the couch and resuming her work. Charlotte once again took her bow in the same hand as her violin and walked three feet to the door. She took a deep breath and tucked some stray hairs behind her ears before placing her right hand on the door handle and twisting it, and then pulling it toward her, opening the door to the flat. Before her stood a very tall, thin woman with black hair, square-rimmed glasses, and a rather stern expression on her face. She looked to be about fifty years old, maybe a little more, and was wearing a long black dress that fit the fashions of the decade prior, with a dark red purse slug over her arm.

"Hello," said Charlotte nervously, "are you from Hogwarts?"

"I certainly am," said the woman with a tone to rival the look on her face. "I am Professor McGonagall."

"The Deputy Headmistress?" Charlotte questioned, shocked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Oh. Well, come inside," said Charlotte, stepping backward.

_The Deputy Headmistress came? Why would she come and not send someone of lower rank?_ Charlotte thought as she closed the door.

"Professor McGonagall, this is my sister, Magdalene, and I'm Charlotte."

Magda turned around rather abruptly, dropped her pen, and stood. "Good evening to you, Professor. I'm Charlotte's guardian."

"Then I will, of course need to speak with both of you. Now, where might we sit?" said the woman, casting about for a seat that was not littered with public defender debris.

"Oh, here, at the table. I… well I made dinner, just in case you haven't eaten, and tea…" Charlotte said, now even more anxious.

_Calm down. Calm down, Charlotte. _

Professor McGonagall lowered herself into the chair closest to the door.

"Would you _like_ some tea?" Charlotte asked.

"Not quite yet. Perhaps you both should sit," said the formidable woman.

Charlotte and Magda sat on either side of Professor McGonagall, both looking uncomfortable. Charlotte set her violin on the unset place beside her.

"I see you play the violin," said the Professor, with a slight hint of what sounded like approval in her voice.

Charlotte smiled and nodded. After a short silence, Professor McGonagall spoke again.

"As you know, I am the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now the reason I am here, apart from the Hogwarts Liaison, who normally takes this job, being otherwise occupied, is that you, Charlotte Harker, performed a great deal of magic six days ago, and upon further examination of other matters, the Headmaster and I came to the conclusion that you ought to be admitted into the school. However your --- "

"Might I interrupt for a moment?" Magda suddenly broke in. "This must be a mistake. Magic is not real."

McGonagall stared coldly through her spectacles at Magda before speaking. "Of course it is. Now, as I was saying, your age proves to be a barrier in your having a traditional education. That is why --- "

"I would be very much obliged if you could prove it," Magda said quietly.

"Magda, she doesn't have to prove it. You've seen the letter and she's here, clearly. Go on, please, Professor."

Suddenly Professor McGonagall, looking slightly annoyed, pulled a wand out of her purse and changed the water glass that sat on the table into a ball of brown yarn. Magda gasped.

"How did you do that?" she exclaimed. "That --- that was amazing!"

The corners of Professor McGonagall's lips turned up a tiny bit, and Charlotte said, "It's magic, Magda. I told you!"

"I…I see," said Charlotte's sister in wonder.

"Good, now that we've got that out of the way, Ms. Harker, perhaps we can move on to more important matters, such as your sister's education?"

"Er…yes, yes of course. There's some sort of intensive study program, the letter said?"

"Yes. The program was devised over a hundred years ago, and has not been updated since nineteen fifty-three. Currently, the Headmaster and I, as well as the other professors at Hogwarts, are working to bring the curriculum up to date. You should have a list of required books within a week, should you choose to allow Charlotte to attend the school."

"That all depends," said Magda.

_What is it now? _Charlotte whined internally.

"Upon what, Ms. Harker?"

"The cost of tuition, room, board, the location of the school, things like that."

_Oh. She does have a point._

"There is no tuition fee at Hogwarts, nor is there a price for room and board. The only things that students and their families are financially responsible for are books and supplies, which typically cost about 120 Galleons for the first year, if you buy everything new, including robes and pets in the cost, and about 70 Galleons after that."

"Galleons… you have a separate currency system?"

"Yes. It is made up of Galleons, which are made of gold, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts, with twenty-nine Knuts to the sickle and seventeen sickles to the Galleon. The current exchange rate between wizard coinage and the English pound is one Galleon per every five pounds, if you would like to know."

"That's…about 600 pounds or so, isn't it?" said Charlotte.

"Correct, Miss Harker. You might consider taking Arithmancy. I would imagine, for this year, it would be a little more."

"That's a blow," said Magda.

"I've got money saved, Magda, about a third from working at the café, and Mum and Dad's child support could cover any debt you might have," Charlotte offered. "I can buy used books, and I don't need a pet."

"Yes, well, funds aside, we do need to figure out what do with Charlotte's schooling. Now, there is a possibility that she could begin as a traditional student, but I _do not _recommend it."

"Yes, you wrote that in the letter, but why not?" Charlotte asked.

"It is better for students to work with people their own age. Additionally, witches and wizards grow more powerful as they age, and therefore are able to learn faster when they're older. If you were to be a traditional student, you would surpass most of the first years within a short period of time."

"First years are eleven years old, then, correct?"

"Yes, that is correct, Miss Harker."

"Then I'm supposed to catch up to students in their _seventh _year in _one?_" Charlotte asked.

"Actually, no. In the wizarding world there are two tests during one's education. The first is the Ordinary Wizarding Level, which is taken at the end of one's fifth year. The second is NEWTs, which students tend to call the 'Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests,' at the end of seventh. It is of general consensus that the last two years of a witch or wizard's education _must_ be completed in the conventional manner. Hence, we shall be bringing you up to par with sixth years."

"So, I'll be a year older than the other students."

"Yes, but possibly more."

_Possibly more? _Charlotte thought to herself, but she chose not to question Professor McGonagall about it quite yet. The witch pulled a scroll from her handbag.

"Here is a list of the subjects offered at Hogwarts. The seven you shall begin with are listed at the top of the list. You shall add on two more subjects approximately three months after you have begun. Your selection of teachers for the subjects is still being finalized."

_Astronomy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration, _Charlotte read in her mind. Magda also looked over the list.

"See that, Magda? I'm taking Transfiguration, so I could learn to turn you into a newt if I wanted," Charlotte joked.

"Actually, you couldn't, Miss Harker," Professor McGonagall broke in. "It would violate the Muggle Protection Act, which has rules against the use of magic on muggles, non-magic humans, if you will, Ms. Harker," she clarified, turning to Magda.

"Oh, what a shame. I was only joking, anyway," Charlotte said.

"Good. Now, History of Magic will be taken independently, which means the Professor shall give you a list of reading and take-home exams. You shall take Herbology during weekends at the greenhouses within the Hogwarts Castle grounds."

_Castle? _Charlotte thought with delight.

"The rest of the courses listed will be taught outside the grounds, unless, of course, you choose to take on Care of Magical Creatures later on."

"Where will I be staying through all this, the castle?" Charlotte asked a little hopefully.

"No. You shall be living in Hogsmeade, the neighboring village, with a host family. Actually, that is the reason the Hogwarts Liaison was unable to come tonight. He and his wife are getting their home ready for you. Their names are Ted and Andromeda Tonks. The two of them shall be arriving next Saturday with your supply list, and from there they shall take Charlotte to Diagon Alley, where she will be able to purchase the needed items, assuming you accept this offer."

"I don't suppose they take credit cards in Diagon Alley, do they?" Magda questioned.

"No, they don't, I'm afraid. It all operates with coins," McGonagall answered, looking a tiny bit scandalized.

"I'll have to take it out of my savings, then, to give to you, Charlotte," Magda sighed.

"So you'll let me go?" Charlotte asked, grinning.

"What else would I do, Charlotte?"

Charlotte laughed, hopped out of her chair and gave her sister an enormous hug. She turned to Professor McGonagall.

"I accept," she declared joyfully. "Intensive study, of course."

The corner of the woman's lip turned up slightly, and she snapped her bag shut. "Excellent," she remarked, standing. "I shall inform Mr. and Mrs. Tonks. I shall doubtless be seeing you in less than a month."

Charlotte and Magda stood as well, each shaking Professor McGonagall's hand in turn. As the witch exited the flat, Charlotte caught the smell of burning in the air. She hurried over to the oven, and pulled out the loaf of bread, which was burnt to a black hulk.

_Oh well, _she thought, _it doesn't matter so much now, anyway._

Charlotte would be going back to school in a month, and she would be learning magic. She was too excited about that to care about anything else. Charlotte threw away the loaf of bread and took up her violin, playing a rhythmic tavern tune on the way back to her bedroom.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's the second installment. In the next chapter, you'll start to see more cannon characters. It's always a danger when writing an OC fic that you'll lack interest from readers. It's also a danger that you'll produce a Mary Sue. I have taken great caution in crafting Charlotte Harker. She's no Mary Sue. Her previously undiscovered witch's status will be explained in later chapters, and I assure that it is a very plausible reason. Read on.


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